


Dibella's Favor

by Xyshurondor



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Altmer Female, Angst Free, Blow Job, Consensual, Cuddling, Elder Scrolls - Freeform, Erotica, F/M, Imperial Male, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Smut, Swallowing, Transfer Orgasm, happy smut, oblivion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyshurondor/pseuds/Xyshurondor
Summary: A priestess of Dibella shows her gratitude to the Hero of Kvatch, a less dramatic figure than she might have expected.





	Dibella's Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wrote this as an RP advertisement, demonstrating that I could write a vanilla erotic scene if needed as well as the more typical R-for-violence, no-to-romance material I often played. I've moved away from roleplaying and back toward solo fiction, so I thought I'd try out this little one-shot here and see if it earns a positive response. I see so little happy, consensual erotica around the internet that it's entirely possible there's no audience for this, so it should be an interesting test.
> 
> If you like this, please leave kudos and I'll write more erotica on this account. You can remain anonymous, remember, so there's no reason to be shy!

The Chapel of Dibella was a beautiful place before the Gates of Hell opened, and after. The great bell tower rose high above the city of Anvil, overlooking the busy and thriving Chapelgate district whose shops and guildhouses stood proud in the shadow of the house of love. Flax blossoms grew wild among the grasses at the foot of the chapel, nourished by the sun as the length of the day moved the long shadow about.

 

Delesine was very young for an Altmer when she became a priestess. Her parents immigrated to Anvil from the far-off Summerset Isles when she was just a child, opening their little grocery stand not far from Morvayn's Peacemakers. Her father rode out to buy produce from the farms surrounding the city, or from the wagons as they came in, and she played about her mother's feet as she stood hawking her cabbages and apples in a bright, cheerful voice. They went to the chapel often, though her parents spoke of the goddess as a newcomer, not truly one of the first et'ada like Magnus and Yffre. Delesine always loved the colorful reflections from its windows and the sweet voices of its clergy, and when she was of age her mother yielded to her pleading and brought her to the temple to ask for training as an acolyte of the goddess. It would be a better life for her than selling cabbages, she argued, and Father finally gave in.

 

She was only twenty-two when the invasion of Dagon began. At that age she was willowy and graceful, with golden skin and golden eyes and her golden hair braided elaborately back from her face.

 

The gate to the Deadlands opened outside the gates of the city, and the city guard would hardly have been able to secure the wall against the flood of dremora and clannfear and scamps had it not been for him.

 

Delesine first saw him because she went to the wall to carry water and to heal the wounded where she could. Like most Altmer, she had significant magicka coursing through her blood and bones, though she was terribly afraid of being struck by a fiery arrow – fire had the power to harm her more than it would harm a human. Nevertheless, she peeked over the battlements one time, curiosity overcoming both fear and common sense.

 

That was why she saw the human, almost anonymous in his iron armor, bash a dremora in the head with a mace and step fearlessly into the gate. His shield was of a curious pattern, round with the boss shaped like a seven-pointed star. She wondered what would move someone to do something so suicidal, and then ducked back as an arrow whistled over her head. After that there was work to be done for some while, but she was still on the wall when the gate closed. There was a tremendous roar and it seemed to collapse in on itself, falling into stony pieces on the scorched ground. And kneeling in the wreckage, a sigil stone tucked under one arm, there was a human in iron armor.

 

Not everyone noticed him. They were preoccupied with slaughtering the last of the daedric army that was marooned at the gates and now fighting harder than ever. Delesine forgot him too, for a little while, because after that she was needed back at the temple to heal and cure and generally soothe panicked and injured people.

 

When she had been awake for almost thirty hours and was nearly at the point of collapse, standing at the altar with her hands resting on the cool stone, she heard a heavy footfall and looked up to see a man in iron armor moving wearily toward her. A mace was belted at his hip, and the shield on his arm had a boss shaped like a seven-pointed star. Delesine lifted her eyes to his face as he doffed the bulky helm. He had an ordinary face, pale and a little round, and his hair was brown and short, plastered to his skin with sweat. He stank of exertion and blood and smoke. As she watched, he laid a hand on the altar, bowing his head, and she saw the deep indentation on the right side of his cuirass and heard the labored hiss of his breathing.

 

“Sir, you're hurt,” she said, and moved to lay her hand on his arm. “Let me heal you.”

 

“It's not important,” he started to say, and then was left blinking in the afterimages of the most powerful healing spell that Delesine knew. He raised a hand to his side, taking a deep breath. “Oh. I – thank you. I didn't – I -” he stammered as he looked down into her face, though at that moment Delesine did not know why. He was so thick-bodied in his armor that she had taken him for shorter when he was far away, but he was still some six inches taller than she was.

 

“You must be exhausted,” she said. “Come with me. You can stay downstairs for tonight, recover your strength.”

 

“Surely you need that space for others,” he said.

 

“I know a room that will be vacant,” Delesine said calmly. “It is the least we can do after what you have done.”

 

He shot her a startled glance. “I was sure no one saw.”

 

“I saw,” she said. “Come. What is your name?”

 

“Varian Elatius,” he said.

 

“I am Delesine. You are welcome here in Dibella's name, Varian.” She led him through the chaos of people praying and seeking their relations among the wounded guards. The stairs at the side of the great chapel led downstairs to the Chapel Hall, where food was being laid out and people were queuing up to eat and drink. Past that were smaller hallways where the priestesses themselves stayed in their own little rooms. Delesine's held her bed, the cupboard that held her clothes, a night-stand with a pitcher and basin, and a small bookshelf.

 

“Clean up as best you can. You'll feel better,” she said, and dug out a washcloth from the cupboard to drape over the basin. She laid a towel beside it. “I'll go and bring food and drink.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Delesine was already gone.

 

When she returned she found him naked except for the towel, awkwardly standing on one foot as he washed the other one. She stopped and stared for a second. He was sturdily built, thick-waisted, muscular in the arms, but the body below the round face had been to the wars. Scars covered his chest, arms and legs, and with the eye of a healer she recognized them all: the irregular round marks of arrows, the star-shaped marks of maces, the three parallel grooves that had certainly been the claws of some enormous beast.

 

“I will have your things cleaned,” she said, and whisked away his discarded clothes before he could protest, leaving his armor. She came back with a pair of linen trousers and a loose cotte five minutes later. “You can wear these until they are ready,” she told him firmly.

 

“Priestess, I don't need all this,” he said. “I could just go to the Inn. You don't have to give me your own bed. There's not really room for two people – erm.” He blinked wearily. “That wasn't quite what I meant to say.”

 

Delesine smiled at him. “There's room enough,” she said. “I would have you call me by my name, Varian.”

 

“If you like,” he said, turning a stubby hand palm-up in surrender. He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his damp hair. Delesine sat down beside him, watching him thoughtfully.

 

“You've been inside a gate to Oblivion before,” she said. She was tired, so tired, but she felt deep in her heart that she knew what her goddess would wish of her; and more than that she knew what she wanted to do. Heat was kindling in her belly and pooling between her legs, and it grew warmer every time that she looked at the sturdy Imperial. He was nothing like what she had been raised to consider handsome. It didn't matter a jot.

 

“Why d'you say that?” he said now.

 

“Scars. They lie in layers.” Delesine reached out, greatly daring, and traced the course of the claw-marks across one broad pectoral with her fingertip. Varius blinked slowly down at it, but he did not push her hand away.

 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he said finally. “I don't want to be forward - ”

 

Delesine's hand quested downward, rubbing the soft layer over the hard muscle of his abdomen. She could hear her own heart in her ears now, breath quickening.

 

“You cannot possibly be forward enough,” she said, and her voice became softer, almost sly. “If you do not want company, now is the time to say so.”

 

“I'm not sure I'm going to be very good... company... after the day I've had,” he said frankly, one corner of his mouth twitching. He laid a heavy hand over hers, pressing it against the heat of his belly. Delesine actually grinned, a vulpine expression on her narrow, pointed face, and reached down to gently pull the towel away from his hips with her other hand.

 

“Well, no one could blame you, but if you do not send me away I am going to find out.”

 

She shifted from the bed onto her knees in front of him with a graceful movement, hand still captured by his hand. She ran her free left up the inside of a muscular thigh. His cock hung fat and short between his legs, the tip half-visible through the opening in the foreskin, and a smattering of brown hair grew around it and in a thin line up to his navel. It looked as though he had probably shorn himself at some point, but not very recently. There was little hair on his chest and arms. The scars had probably killed most of the roots.

 

Delesine felt him inhale as her hand quested downward to cup his balls, gently rolling them in her fingers. As she had expected, the shaft began to lazily thicken, growing as it began to rise. She slid her hand forward up the thick, raised line on the underside of it and then gently slid the foreskin back with her fingertips, watching the length of it grow and harden. Varius's hand squeezed hers and let go as he leaned back to rest his hands on the coverlet, breathing faster. She could see red creeping into his face.

 

“How does that feel?” she asked, and wrapped her other hand around as well, working it up and down. She kept a thumb over that raised ridge, the sensitive frenulum on the lower side of the shaft. She felt so, so tight inside, hot and wet behind her layered robes, and little throbs of pleasure pulsed through her clit and back into her body as she bumped up and down with the effort.

 

“You've no idea,” he gasped. “I don't – it's been a long time - ”

 

“Don't worry,” she said. “There's always tomorrow. But anyone would have trouble sleeping after the things you have seen – let me make your rest sweet tonight.”

 

“Yes,” he said breathlessly. “If you really want - gods, yes.”

 

“I really want,” she said.

 

He was much bigger, hard. A very respectable size. Delesine flicked the end of his cock with her tongue, the little narrow hole at the end of it, and then put her mouth over the end and pressed him between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. It really had been a long time, evidently; his back arched, head falling back toward the coverlet, and she felt his mast jump in her hands as hot seed shot into her mouth. His feet whitened in the corner of her vision as they pressed against the floor, toes curling.

 

Little waves of pleasure throbbed through Delesine as she saw the exalted expression on his face, his eyes wide and unseeing, and knew that she had done it. It was not an ache of longing dissatisfaction that she felt. The pleasure was real and physical, and she felt it building and building as Varius came.

 

She swallowed, pressing ruthlessly forward as she continued to work and work with her hands. She slowed but did not stop until he stopped coming and started to slowly go soft again. She glanced up to see him slumping back onto the mattress, shoulders pressed into the coverlet, and she lapped the end of his cock lightly. She had brought him to that place of surrendered bliss, to that moment of complete relaxation, and with that knowledge the long slow glorious wave of orgasm began. It started in her cunt, but it did not stop there: it spread uncontrollably through her body and up her spine and into her head, tingling in her neck and scalp. Her tongue quivered on the glans, and she released his cock to press her hands into his thighs, gasping and shivering.

 

Varius raised his head slowly, blinking – he was already struggling to stay awake. “Did you – are you - ?”

 

“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh, Dibella, yes.” There was no moment more appropriate for calling on the goddess. Was not the joy of the body Dibella's blessing? Delesine laid her head on his thigh, running her hand up his waist to rub his side where the wound had been, but her pelvis continued to twitch with smaller waves of pleasure for long seconds after the first burst of climax was over. She felt Varius reach down to entangle his fingers in her hair, rubbing her head, and that made it go on even longer.

 

She chuckled softly when it was over, pressing her forehead into his leg. “Ah. Bless the goddess, Varius, for you have come to the right place.”

 

“I believe it,” he said, his voice starting to slur. She knew what he felt. Her every limb felt divinely heavy, gentle euphoria diffusing through her as she caught her breath.

 

“All right. Legs up.” She helped him lift his heavy legs up onto the bed as he pivoted. He rolled onto his side, and as she leaned over him, resting for a moment with her elbows on his shoulder and waist, she heard his breathing grow more shallow and sonorous. Varius slept, hands half-curled in total relaxation. He never knew that Delesine bent to kiss his shoulder before she went to wash, though he would know the next morning that she had folded the blanket up around him to keep him warm. She returned in nothing more than a thin white shift to lie down behind him, pulling another layer of covers up around her shoulder as she laid her arm over his body. He moved and sighed, murmuring, and she kissed the back of his neck gently.

 

“Shh, love, it's all right,” she whispered, and he settled again, sinking away from whatever dream had troubled him. And Delesine slept the night through, warmed by his body and warmer yet with the splendid glow of Dibella's favor.


End file.
